


Her Story

by GingerGinger



Category: Le Fantôme de l'Opéra | Phantom of the Opera & Related Fandoms
Genre: F/M, and it has long since been in the making, but I changed it, please enjoy, so this was originally a moulin rouge au
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2018-05-17
Updated: 2018-05-17
Packaged: 2019-05-08 06:31:52
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 353
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/14688456
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/GingerGinger/pseuds/GingerGinger
Summary: Do you truly know the story of the Phantom of the Opera? From the perspective of Christine Daaé that is? This is her story, of how she arrived in Paris, of how her father died, of how she had known sorrow for the first time in her life, of how the angel of music rejuvenated the soul she had in music, of how she was betrayed and she betrayed, of how she grew, and of how she loved.





	Her Story

ENTRY: JUNE 1897

_In the several years that had passed of my time in Paris weigh heavy on my mind. Raoul has offered me bountiful suggestions as to how I can express such thoughts and emotions without telling him of such. One of which was to write them down and that I did._

_Yet in such a period, I have known pain; I have known loss; I have known hatred; and I have known love. I think of him often and will never forget him. To the Garnier, he was the_ _**Phantom of the Opera** _ _; to the managers, he was_ _**O.G.** _ _; to the Persians, he was the_ _**Angel of Doom** _ _. But to me, he was_ _**Erik** _ _, who once was_ _**my Angel of Music** _ _. He was kind, and he was cold; he was happy, and he was sad. There were times that his tortured mind was harsh as a vicious storm at sea, and there were times that his vivid mind shined brighter than any star in the sky._

_He was forged by mankind's cruel treatments, broken by their judging glances, sprouted hatred from their views. I had once thought such cruel things, but I have grown to learn that he, too was human like the rest of us. That dreadful Phantom of the Opera was made from the same flesh that I and everyone, even those more wicked than he supposedly was. Erik was my maestro that had reawaken the spirit I had for music that lay dormant when my father had passed. He came to me, guised as the tale that I held so dearly because of my father always spoke to me of the Angel of Music. But yet, I could not hate him, neither for his actions or for his face. I could never bring to myself say I hated him._

_These entries will be dated and transpiring in my perspective and none other. I will tell of the time from when I first arrived in the city of Paris with my father, to the time that I found myself to love_ **The Phantom of the Opera.**

Christine Daaé


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